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I believe in RECYCLING. Especially when it comes to DOGS. Airedales, Welshies and Westies in particular. But no matter the breed, make Adoption your first Option. You won't regret it! So when I decided to skip eBay and start a new Vintage Wares store, it only made sense to call it "Second Hand Terriers... Because NEW isn't Always Better". Come see my Booth at Bonanzle. Or, if you see something here that speaks to your heart -- or howls with your dog soul! -- email me and we can work things out directly. Either way, I hope you enjoy your visit. Oh, one last thing: while TERRIERS may be stubborn, their OWNERS really know how to negotiate!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

I have a confession to make. I'm not the first person to say this aloud. In cyberspace no one can hear you scream. (Unless you've got the caps locked on.) I can feel myself stalling already.

I am not aging gracefully. There, I not only said it, I meant it. I wish I could say that I'm one of those really cool women who just accepts another year on the page of her life's story. But I'm not. I seem to be missing the gene. The "Age is just a number in a book" gene. My mother likes to tack on, "and mine's unlisted." I'm not sure if that's included under the gracefully category or not.

There are some truly amazing women who have refused to cave in to this damn obsession with youth. Katherine Hepburn and Audrey Hepburn pop up in the Dearly Departed column. Jacqueline Bisset, Lauren Bacall, Vanessa Redgrave have turned down the Botox and the lifts, while others have grabbed every new cosmetic revolution that gets a mere drip of publicity. Resversatrol, Juvederm, Botox, Ceramides, Peptides, and stuff I can't even begin to spell.

To my dismay I have discovered that I fall into the latter group. I truly did believe that I would grow old gracefully. But that was when I was twenty. Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating. Thirty. Early thirties. Then I hit the wall. I remember looking for a job when I first moved out to L.A. (Like so many other things that I once swore I would never do. Like, I'd never drive an SUV. Jeeps are Jeeps. Not an SUV.) I was 33 at the time and a film exec sat across his enormous desk staring with apparent shock and awe at my resume. He then leveled his gaze at me and without a hesitation in his voice said, You're trying to get into film awfully late in life, aren't you? I laughed! Thirty-three was awfully late in life? This really is LA-LA-Land, I thought contemptuously. What a jerk.

But as it turns out, he was right. And for the first time in my life I realized that the "All things are Possible" had morphed right from the believing stage to the what-you-tell-yourself pit of self-denial. And after I spent a decade trying to prove that man wrong, I realized that the Possible cheer was a crock of shit. You can't always do what you want if you really really want something badly enough. Sorry, but you can't. Sometimes the path is blocked by an organized mob of thugs.

Hey, hold that thought while I go check out the Cosmetics Cop's latest product review. Be right back...

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